


Don't Stop Me Now

by lyllytas



Series: Don't Stop Me Now [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Hatred, Sex Toys, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 18:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyllytas/pseuds/lyllytas
Summary: Crowley pines, yearns and has a lot of sex toys.Aziraphale finds out. He doesn't /do/ sex. But he does take an interest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley has lots of feelings. He also has lots of sex toys. Follows cannon up to the point before the anti-christ is delivered. What if life had just continued?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets caught in an compromising situation by an angel. Completely ignores the whole Apocalypse business just because I can

Crowley has it so bad. He knows it. He knows that he is too fast for his angel, that he should reign it in. But his passion is a creature that refuses to be tamed. All his feelings and love are too strong. Every time Aziraphale looks at him with _that_ soft smile of his and calls him dear boy, Crowley is shaken to his very core.

He is utterly _In Love_ and he had no idea how he is supposed to Tone. It. Down.

Six _thousand_ years of hints and teasing and it is just, it is _too much,_ and yet it isn't _enough._ He is utterly fucked. But he also knows that he will wait another six thousand years if that’s what Aziraphale needs.

He can take care of _things_ himself.

<~>

This story begins late one evening on a hot summer Thursday sometime in the 21st century shortly Aziraphale leaves the flat after one of their marathon drinking sessions that had lasted most of the morning, all of the afternoon and well into the night. Crowley doesn't even bother sobering up before tossing himself in his extravagant bed with one hand crammed down his tight pants and Aziraphale’s name on his lips.

It is so easy, a familiar dance he knows all the steps too well. The two always meet up over food, then they talk and drink. Crowley wears his heart on his sleeve, hoping that just _maybe_ Aziraphale will catch up this time. That the night will end any differently than the way it currently is.

He dines and drinks and flirts with Aziraphale over and over again, like it is enough, but it never is, and oh Crowley is so _greedy_ \- he always wants _more._

“Aziraphale.” He gasps out the name as he swirls a thumbnail around the head of his already leaking prick, thrusting up into his fist. It isn’t enough; just enough of a squeeze to be a tease. He doesn’t bother with with that for long though; he is already on edge from the hours he had spent _longing_ to touch Aziraphale, for _touched_.

“Where did I put you?” Crowley asks himself as he stumbles off of the bed and digs around for his _toy box,_ finally finding it under the sofa in the sitting room of all places.

“There you are.” He says when he finally picks up _The Box_ with it's needed supplies. He sinks down to the sofa rather than go back to his bed. It is too far away and he needs it too much now. The couch will be fine for this.

 _The Box_ itself is just a plain cardboard box. It’s flaps creased and worn from age and handling. It is something he keeps telling himself he will replace one day, but never actually remembers to follow through. It contains his all of his _favorite_ toys.

And oh does he have so _many_ \- the Humans are always coming up with such cleaver ways to _sin._ Vibrators are something he is rather proud of creating, though _they_ have taken it so much further than Crowley could have ever dreamed. Fantastic imaginations, that lot has.

The toy he is currently holding is a shiny plain black wand with stacked balls rather like a strange never-ending snowman that has a nice loop at the base for easy removal. And when it is turned on, _oh_ how brilliant it is.

He lubes it up, doing things the human way as he always quite enjoyed it. He plays with it a bit before finally sinking down on it and giving himself what he wants. He pushes and pulls it slowly, fucking himself with it and lets it rest against that spot in him.

And then he finally turns on the toy. He would have lost himself like that had knock not disturbed him.

“Crowley?" Aziraphale calls out through the door, "Are you still here?”

_Fuck._

In a flash he is out off the sofa and wills himself dressed as he stumbles to the door. The toy is turned off, but still inside him. His objective has switched from 'getting off' to simply 'get the angel _OUT_ and possibly save what little dignity he has left.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley says as he leans halfway out his door, breathing far too fast for someone who doesn't need air. “What’s up?”

“Oh, I forgot my book." Aziraphale looks embarrassed at that. "The new one I was showing you before we started drinking.”

“Right.” Crowley drawls, trying to remember where the angel had set it down.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be a bother." Aziraphale says, standing awkwardly on his doorstep. "I’ll just pop right in the sitting room and grab it.”

“No!” Crowley yells, thinking of the lube and his discarded clothes, and the _box._ If the demon moves too fast for him, then Aziraphale definitely does not need to see _The Box._ He burns at the thought. “I’ll get it. Just _stay._ There.”

“Are you all right Crowley? You seem rather flushed.” Aziraphale wring his hands as he looks over his friend. The demon's brow glistens with sweat and his yellow iris behind his shades are much too wide.

“I’m fine, it's just the wine." He wills the forgotten book into his hands. "Here’s your book, Angel.” He pushes the book into Aziraphale’s hands with more force than is necessary. “Okay, well then, off you go!”

“Are you trying to get _rid_ of me? Someone from work coming by?” Aziraphale cradles the book to his chest.

“Nope, not at all.” Crowley tries to usher the angel away.

“Crowley, I do think you need to sit down." Aziraphale tries to cut to the point. "You really look _off_ , Dear.”

“I told you I’m fine!” He protests, waving off the worry.

“Did you change?" Aziraphale says grasping at straws. "I don't think that wasn’t what you were wearing earlier.”

“I didn’t know you were paying that much attention to my clothes angel." _Will_ _this blessed conversation never end?_ "Really, I’m _fine._ We’ll have lunch later this week.” He flaps his hand around “At one of those ridiculously overpriced sushi restaurants you like so much!”

“I’d feel much better if you’d agree to take a nap." Aziraphale's voice is concerned. "You look flat worn out.”

“A nap. That’s a great idea." Crowley closes the door a little more. "Yeah, I think I’ll get right on that. Tickety boo, I’ll see you later.” He finally gets the door closed and locked. He rests his head against it the cool wood. That had been too close for his tastes.

“Tickety boo? Really, Crowley, what are you trying to hide?” Aziraphale asks, suddenly behind him.

Crowley almost yelps as he spins around. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He pushes up his shades. “Well, other than try to protect your delicate sensitivities.” He clears his throat. “Remember I’m a beacon of _sin_ and all that. I’m just doing my job.”

“Oh? Have you got someone over?” Aziraphale’s voice sounds decidedly calm.

“What? No. Why why I have someone over?" Crowley is taken aback at the thought. "I don’t even like people.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale raises a well groomed eyebrow. “What’s your vice then? Drugs? Missing the old coco-cola formula?”

Crowley scoffs. “Please, LSD is way more fun." He makes a face, "Or at least it is in the 70’s." He muses. "I miss the 1970's, so many fun clothes. Fashion was wild." He looks at Aziraphale beseechingly, "It’s not drugs either. Aziraphale please, no one’s getting hurt, can’t you just let this go?”

“Oh my _dear_ boy, I don’t want you to have to feel like you have to hide something from me.” Aziraphale looks like he is about to touch him, and that would be too much for the demon to handle right now.

Crowley wants to laugh, he wants to cry. Like he hasn't been hiding just how much he loves Aziraphale for thousands of years. He swallows. “Leave it?” He asks again. “ _Please_?”

Aziraphale looks rather gloomy. “Well, alright then," he fiddles with the corner of the book. "If it bothers you so much, I’ll go.”

Crowley is ashamed to see the hurt in Aziraphale’s eyes and knows he is the cause. The toy is still inside him though and he _needs_. Once the door is firmly closed for a second time, he barely makes it to his bed.

“Oh shit, _shit!_ Bollocks. Oh _fuck!_ I really buggered that up.” He bangs his head backwards repeatedly on the pillows as he touches himself.

But what is he supposed to say: ‘ _Well Aziraphale, you interrupted me I is just having a wank, because I think about you all the time, and it's agony. I love you so much, but how can you ever love me? I’m just a demon. One of The Fallen. Not good enough for you.’_

His orgasm is retched. Like he doesn't deserve it - and he doesn't.

Afterward it is even worse. Then he has to walk out to the living room and clean everything up and off. And then he takes a shower.

Normally he feels some kind of relief after an orgasm or two, but now he feels like the walls are too close and his thoughts are too loud. He thinks about how Aziraphale had looked so very _hurt_ when he’d left. The hot water is scalding as it pounded on his back.

"Stupid. can you have handled that any worse?" He grinds the heel of his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He melts to the floor, shifting and curling up in tight coils on the bottom of the shower, feeling the heat against his scales.

He stays like that for hours, until his boiler finally gives out and he reluctantly returns to human form.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finds something Crowley would rather he not see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale comes across some of Crowley's prouder accomplishments

Crowley gives it another perfunctory try after getting out of the shower, but he feels like he is just going through the motions - it just feels _dirty_ and _gross._

Eventually he stops trying.

<~>

By the end of the week he is an absolute wreck. Nothing he tries is getting him _there_ anymore, and he tries lots. But nothing he does feels quite as good as it used to. Being around Aziraphale is simply punishing torture, building up.

He wants to tell Aziraphale the truth, what is really the matter. But the truth will scare his angel. Or maybe disgust him. However Aziraphale reacts, Crowley won't be ready for it.

So he pretends it's fine. It _is_ fine. Whenever Crowley has to be near the angel, he just drinks extraordinary amounts of alcohol and when his tongue starts feeling traitorous, he sheds his mortal form and curl up on the cushions of his chair or the floor.

<~>

“I asked you a question.” Aziraphale chides him over his glass, looking all together quite adorable, and really it takes all his demonic willpower not to toss himself at the angel.

Keeping himself in the proper form is too much work. Listening is _much_ easier when he gives in and lets himself transform. He raises his head to show that he is still paying attention. “Hmm?”

“I said, what have you been up to this week? Are you causing trouble?” Aziraphale drinks. “Is this going to be something I'm going to have to explain to my soup, supe-, bosses?”

“Oh, jussst ssstuff.” Crowley hisses and flicks his tongue out cheekily.

Time passes like this. Just drinking and existing.

“I got something for you!” Aziraphale says suddenly out of the blue. “Stay there.”

He comes back in moments later with something bulky and sets it up, plugging it into the wall.

“Sss'a lamp, Angel.” Crowley notes.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale scolds him. “Let me turn it on.”

And once Aziraphale does the most glorious heat basks Crowley. His snake brain might short out for a few minutes with how _good_ it feels.

“I saw it when I was out shopping. I saw it and immediately thought of you." Aziraphale explains. "It's meant to be for pets." He says with a shrug. "Well you know the humans, they are quite fond of many strange things, they keep lizards and spiders, even bugs as pets nowadays. And they've got all sorts of special stores for them everywhere if you know where to look."

Aziraphale rambles on when he doesn't respond. "I thought you might like this... It does get dreadfully cold in your flat sometimes.”

And that makes Crowley want to melt more. He is suddenly glad that he is in this form, because snakes can't cry. If he was in his person shape he might have burst into tears.

“Zzzira,” he twists happily under the heat. _Saw it and thought of him._ Isn't that something that couples do? Bring each other presents just cause? _Calm down_. He tells his heart and reluctantly returns to human form. _He needs to get out of here._ Like now.

“I thought you'd hunker down for hours." Aziraphale says more than a little surprised at the change. "I was quite prepared for it. I have a book and everything." He holds his book aloft.

Crowley wants straight out to bash his head through the wall so he can think again. He is being overwhelmed with his emotions and he can't deal. _Demons don't feel, at least not like this_ , he has to keep reminding himself.

“I just remembered I have something to do.” He manages to say.

“Now?” Aziraphale furrows his brows as he stands.

“Yes, now. Sorry.” He forces his hands to stay where they are at his sides and not reach out. "Thanks for the gift."

“Yes of course," Aziraphale calls after him as Crowley practically runs away. " _Oh_ Crowley, your lamp!”

<~>

Getting home safely is quite the miracle. Not that Hell was really keeping track anymore. And even if they were, he doesn't care.

“Errrg.” Crowley growls as he bashes his head against the steering wheel. “You are so dumb. Stupid. Bloody. Demon.” Each word is punctuated by hitting his head on the wheel, and then he he tosses his head back against the headrest.

Why does he _have_ a torch for the angel? Why can't he control himself? Why is he such a _mess_? Always with the questions.

“Vodka. Vodka sounds like a _great_ idea right now. Just get real fucking _smashed_.” Like he hadn't just spent four hours drinking wine at the bookstore. Screw it, he'd get smashed-er. He crosses the street to his loft like he can't drink soon enough.

<~>

He's five shots in, and Crowley is starting to feel like he can get his emotions back under control. Maybe. He is crushed under the weight of the gift. Aziraphale gave him a present! A spectacular one. He feels a little giddy. Maybe it is the vodka or the wine from earlier, but he allows himself to smile like a middle school girl with her first crush.

 _No. Calm down_. He tells himself. _This is what friends do. They get things that the other might like._ His hind-brain says _No, No 'calming down'_ , and he feels himself swell with emotions he can't even begin to describe.

He rests his head on the table and ties not to feel his feelings.

Aziraphale is an _Angel_ of the _Lord._ He is strictly _Off Limits._

But he is also so damn nice.

No. He isn't _Damn_ anything. And Crowley refused to be the reason that Aziraphale Falls - not that he'd ever have any reason to you know, Fall.

Of course the angel wouldn't sleep with Crowley. It is _him._ Crowley is a demon; one of the Fallen. Not worthy of love. Not even worthy of a quick fucking. Aziraphale would never.

Oh, but what if he would?

Crowley stumbles to his sofa and lets his head thump back against one of the couch cushions, he closes his eyes. Here in his imagination, Aziraphale is free. No repercussions.

 _'Oh, my dear boy, is this what's bothering you so much? You should have said something earlier.'_ He can almost hear Aziraphale's voice in his head.

 _'If you have a problem, I can take care of that. Would you like that? Me taking care of you?' Aziraphale hums._ Crowley ghosts a touch along the front of his pants, bringing his hands up to undo them.

 _'Please.' He begs, his throat wrecked_. He tries to touch himself just the way Aziraphale does in his mind, like Crowley is a rare first edition book, seconds from crumbling. Too gentle, and he wanted more. But if this was real then Aziraphale would tease him and keep to the gentle touches _. 'Aziraphale._ _Please_ _?'_

 _'Please_ _**what** _ _dear? Tell me what you want.'_

_'More.'_

_'Oh well that's not very indicative. I'm afraid you'll have to be clearer.'_

_'Aziraphale touch me.'_ His breathing is heavy, and he has to force himself to keep pace with the fantasy. _'Stop teasing me,_ _ **Please.**_ _'_

_'Now my dear boy, was that so hard?'_

_'Harder, faster. Oh Aziraphale.'_

_'Like this?'_

He finally touches himself the way that he wants, the way he needs.

_'You'll have to tell me if I'm doing it right. If you don't, I'll stop...'_

_'Oh fuck, yes. Yes, Aziraphale you're perfect, just like that, don't stop_.'

And he probably could bring himself off like that; he feels an edge that he hadn't been able to reach all week - his missing ingredient, so to speak. But the universe has other plans in store for him.

There is a knocking on his front door, the rather unrelenting type. Not the kind that says there are to be yummy biscuits in the near future, but the more persistent kind, like a religious usher or a vacuum salesman.

“Crowley, I know you're in there.” Aziraphale calls, interrupting him again with pounding on the front door.

“Oh you've got to be kidding me.” Crowley cries out in dismay and tries to hide away any evidence of what he'd just been doing.

 _Why are his clothes so damn tight? He has nothing to hide behind_. He struggles to get back into in his clothes, feeling trapped.

“Crowley _, I just want to talk._ Please don't keep avoiding me. I _know_ you're in there.”

“I'm not avoiding you.” He yells at the door as he tries to wiggle into his trousers.

“It certainly seems that way to me.” Aziraphale says back, raising his voice. “ _Honestly_ I'm not having a conversation with you through a bloody door. Open up."

“Rather busy at the moment.” Crowley pulls a t-shirt on. It stick to his sweat damp skin.

“You've been acting off for a while now. I just want to talk, Crowley.” Aziraphale pleads.

Crowley bites at his knuckles trying to think of anything to calm himself down. Naked old biddies, cold showers, Beelzebub. “Really angel, It's nothing for you to be concerned about!”

“Anthony J. Crowley if you don't unlock this door right this instant, I will.”

Oh, that does it. It takes a lot to make Aziraphale threaten _him._ He meekly shuffles awkwardly to the door and gingerly flips the lock and opens the door.

“I don't see why you had to make that _so_ hard.” Aziraphale pulls on his bow tie and frowns.

“Right, see, fresh as a daisy.” Crowley tries to look nonchalant. “You really didn't have to put yourself through all this trouble.”

“You shot out of my bookstore like a bat out of, _well._ ” Aziraphale wiggles his shoulders. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright, _truly.”_

“Yes, I'm ace. Go on,” He waves towards the sitting room, knowing Aziraphale will not be so easily dissuaded. “I'll bring some tea." He doesn't have any tea, not that it matters.

<~>

He carries two steaming cups over to Aziraphale in the sitting room, also known as the 'Lived-in-Room.'

The whole space of the Lived-in-Room is made for Aziraphale. Puffy black leather sofa, wooden coffee table, reading light, even a rug on the floor. Aziraphale has declared that it is the only room in the flat that felt like there is someone actually living there, hence the name.

Crowley wants to sit as far away from Aziraphale as possible - maybe in another country, but that would hurt his angel's feelings, so he sits in his usual place; an arms length away. The angel studies him as they drink like he expects Crowley to faint away at any moment. Crowley wishes he could crawl into his mug.

“You're quite certain nothing is bothering you, dear?”

“Oh, no more than usual.” He shrugs. “Maybe I'm just coming down with something.”

“I don't think demons get sick.” Aziraphale purses his lips

Crowley gestures. “Might do. Anyways, we've been around humans for a very long while, maybe it's catching.” He muses. “Been here 6,000 years... Do angels ever get tired?”

“Not really.” Aziraphale fiddles with his mug. “I find the nights are a good time to cozy up with a good book and a nice cup of cocoa.”

“You should nap. It's glorious. Sleeping the day away, sssinful stuff.” He teases as he leaned back falling into their usual banter. “But more than that.” He sighs and picks up his tea. He doesn't have dinky tea cups, just his coffee mugs. At least they are sturdy. He is always _slightly_ worried that he will break Aziraphale's little dainty tea cups just by breathing wrong.

Aziraphale turns to examination him, suddenly worried. “You slept nearly a whole century away!”

Crowley shrugs. “I was bored.”

“You're not about to go do that again are you?” His voice grows insistent. “Crowley, no!”

“Isn't exactly something I am planning on doing again, I was just curious. So you'd never even once though of taking a break?”

“Why would I want to? You wouldn't be there.” Aziraphale raises his mug to his lips and sips.

 _Oh._ He doesn't have a response to that and they drink on their tea in silence. It is of course the perfect temperature with just the right amount of sugar. Which is to say that Aziraphale's has none, and Crowley's has far more than is socially acceptable.

“ _Say_ Crowley, what's this box you have crammed under the coffee table?”

“What box?” He leans over to look and then set then his tea mug down rather harshly, spilling some. He snatches up _The Box_ and darts back out of reach. "Nothing to see in this very _ordinary_ box. Nothing at all. Just some delivery. I'll just pop off and put it in the bedroom then.”

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. “ _Really_ Crowley, if I is the suspicious sort, that would have done it,” He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “I know you like your drama and your secrets. No doubt you're trying to throw me off of whatever _Really_ is the problem.”

“Yup, that's me. I've got a budding career in subterfuge and espionage. Just getting off the ground really.”

“You mean other than the one you've already got.” Aziraphale holds his cup like it is made out of fine china. Crowley almost expects the angel to stick out a pinky all proper like.

“Right,” he drawls. “We're doing lots of Subterfuge here.”

“Well not now.” Aziraphale sighs. “Look, if you're not going to tell me what the problem is dear, then I shall have to find it out myself.”

“Zira, there's not a problem.” Crowley pulls down his shades to look over his glasses. He can usually distract the angel with his eyes.

“Yes there is.” Aziraphale meets his gaze. “You haven't _felt_ like you in days.”

“ _Felt_ like me?” He pushes his glasses back into place and holds out his finger accusingly. “You've been _keeping_ _tabs_ on my feelings?”

“Only a polite interest.” Aziraphale holds his hands up soothingly, “It's more like an aura you give off. Just kind of there.”

"I don't even like feeling my feelings! And now you're telling me you feel them too?" He crosses his arms defensively and grumbles. "Invasive as all get out."

"See, this is _exactly_ why I doesn't mention it in the first place.” Aziraphale says. “But you can hardly expect me to just ignore it."

"Yes I can!" Crowley huffs.

Aziraphale stands up sensing that this is going to be one of those things that they went around in circles over for hours. Instead, he starts rifling through the single shelf is in the room. Aziraphale had declared Crowley's flat to be too cold, too bare, too industrial. Aziraphale _still_ thinks it is too empty; if only he would put an actual bookshelf in here! The shelf of ornaments had been Crowley's concession, a small splash of color in his gloom. And now Aziraphale is rifling through the trinkets on it like he is going to find something.

“You're not going to find anything there angel.” Crowley rolls his his eye and sits back moodily.

“Hm.” Aziraphale keeps looking.

“You're not going to find anything because there's _nothing_ to find.”

“You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it dear. You're _off._ Today is _off._ And I'm not leaving until I find out **why.** ”

“Urg, Angel.” He kicks his feet onto the coffee table. He is still sporting half a stiffy, but Aziraphale doesn't seem to notice his state, paying more attention to his search. Crowley's whole flat is pretty bare; Aziraphale finds nothing.

“Would you like to inspect the plants again?” Crowley mocks. "Perhaps make sure there's nothing but dirt in those pots?"

"Drat it.” He turns around. “I know you're hiding _something_ Dear." His eyes light up suddenly. "The box, the one you doesn't want me to see. Not just a misdirection!"

"No!" He jumps up. "Absolutely nothing of interest there."

"My Dear, then you won't have any qualms about me looking.” Aziraphale miracles the box into his hands. “I mean if you have nothing to hide."

"Aziraphale, no." He rushes forward to try to get the box away, but Aziraphale is determined and turns so that he can't reach.

Aziraphale pries open the box and glances down, not quite comprehending the collection of silicone and vinyls until shapes started to form, and Aziraphale's lips form an O and he finally seemed to notice the state his friend is in. "Crowley."

"Aziraphale. I told you not to look.” Crowley swallows. “I was just trying to save your delicate sensitivities." He grabs the box back and wills it away.

"I thought _that_ was just a human thing." Aziraphale says softly.

Crowley shrugs "Sex is. The vibrator was one of my ideas.” He barrels on talking. “The humans are always coming up with nifty new ideas, and we've been down here for ages. Pretty sure they're on to something, it keeps things interesting."

Aziraphale latches onto that. He doesn't understand it, but if it keeps his friend from being bored and sleeping away another century, he will do his best to support him. "Interesting. Right." He clears his throat. “Well then. I'll leave you to it.”

And really, that should have been that. But then Aziraphale has to go off and show him just how unbothered by this new development he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I really should be packing for surgery, but we'll see, maybe I can squeeze out another chapter before then ;p


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Not very graphic in this chapter, and kind of short. Traveling tomorrow, and then Surgery on Thursday, so I might be able to add one more chapter to this before surgery. Updates and snippets on my tumblr: https://thekidsareangry.tumblr.com/

Crowley is wandering around his flat sometime later that week having just misted all his plants (and possibly yelled at them bit; it's good motivation, it keeps them in line and looking top notch) and is wondering what else to do with the day. It is summer, and it is ridiculously hot. Whatever he plans to do, it is going to be done inside with the air con on full blast.

He hasn't heard from the head office in a while. He should probably cause some troubles here on Earth, but the humans are doing a LOT to make his job easier lately. He is probably getting plenty of credit down below. No need to step up his petty work when he can claim what is possibly the beginning of WWIII.

He steps out of the green room and goes to put his mister away when he comes across a small package on his desk. It wasn't there before and that catches his attention. It is rather a rather plain box, just wrapped in brown butcher paper, maybe 8 inches by 3 inches. It has his name written on it though in Aziraphale's neat handwriting, so he picks it up and tears back the paper without a moment's hesitation, eager to see what the angel considered an appropriate gift for the demon.

He blinks at the box for a second, totally unprepared. He doesn't blink often, but he feels the moment calls for it. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it certainly hadn't been a dildo. It is rather bland as far as sex toys go. It is only 7 inches long, and there aren't even veins or bollocks at the base. Just the suction cup bottom. He turns the box over in his hands as he thinks, almost expecting the box to be some kind of joke.

He has far more interesting things to play around with, but the thought of Aziraphale picking out something so indecent, so intimate sends a rush through him. Did Aziraphale go to a naughty shop or did he buy this online?

No. The angel _hates_ using his computer. That means he had either gone to the shops in person or miracled it up himself.

Crowley wasn't sure what to do - but he is pretty sure that when the person you've been flinging yourself at for 6000 years buys you a sex toy; you use it, and maybe think of them.

<~>

And use it he does, he sticks the silicone prick to his headboard and tries to imagine it is Aziraphale as he works his hips. He imagines that he is being absolutely wrecked by his angel and he feels that familiar ache inside of him, and paints his sheets with ropes of cum with Aziraphale's name on his lips.

And afterward comes the shame.

 _Bad demon._ He admonished himself, and he tries to tell himself to stop thinking about Aziraphale like that. He tried to shove those feelings down way down. It will never happen. Ever. It is wrong to keep doing this.

<~>

“Did you like it?” Aziraphale asks him eagerly the next time they meet, which happens by chance to be at Saint James Park where they feed the ducks. “You hardly ever give in to human temptations. Eating is absolutely _divine._ ” Aziraphale smiles at him fondly where he sits on the metal bench.

Crowley's gut clenches, like it does every time he sees that smile directed at him. Aziraphale surely knows how he feels about the angel, but never says or does anything. Crowley supposes that is a manner of speaking. It hurts, but being friends will have to be enough. (It isn't)

“Well. Purple, really?” Crowley raises an arched a brow and then looks away. “I _suppose_ it wasn't terrible." He mutters. "Hardly creative though.”

And Aziraphale gets that look in his eyes, like someone has just challenged him to find a particularly rare first edition. “I see. Well then.” He stands up.

<~>

After that Aziraphale ramps up his efforts. Crowley keeps coming across neatly wrapped brown packages with Aziraphale's handwriting, and they get more and more interesting.* and though he tells himself he won't, in the end he always ends up thinking of Aziraphale. It is the only thing that get him _there_ anymore.

(*The little black plug with the wicked twist to it that has a remote _and_ vibrates too is probably his favorite. He doesn't know where Aziraphale is finding these things. The angel really does hates going online. He is probably hounding poor shop workers for information and reading lots of risque books. The image makes Crowley laugh.)

<~>

And for a while, this is enough for him. His imagination keeps his interest, and his heart keeps aching. A couple times a month there will be a new package left for him in his flat, and though they don't really talk about it, Crowley will send him various emoji* afterwords.

(* 😈is his favorite and a thumbs up or thumbs down usually gets his point across. On one memorable occasion he uses the 🎆 emoji)

<~>

But the thing is that no matter how hard he tries not to do it, his mind always circles back to Aziraphale. He thinks about the angel doing _things_ to him. Being un-angelic. Crowley literally can't get off any other way. And he tries so hard. Oh so many times. His prick is sore from him trying, but he is determined to stop thinking of the angel like that, doing those things.

<~>

After a particularly rough two weeks where he has absolutely refused to think of the angel as anything other than his _best friend_ he is about ready to scream. He can't hide it, his irritation shows. His saunter is more of a stomp and he feels like throwing a fit, he is so cheesed off at himself.

Even his plants seemed to sense the frustration, quaking the minute he steps out of his bedroom after yet another failed attempt. He is supposed to be meeting Aziraphale for lunch today. Which will undoubtedly turn into drinks after. He doesn't have time to take his frustration out on the plants, lucky buggers.

Instead he tried to put on a pleasant face and tries not to let the angel notice.

Of course he _does._ Aziraphale is always noticing things about him. He _is_ a good friend. But Crowley doesn't want that.

“Is something bothering you?” Aziraphale asks once they get to the wine drunk part of the evening. It has taken them hours and several bottles to reach this point. The angel had picked up on the fact that something was off the minute he saw Crowley, but the wine gave him the courage to speak. Crowley hated talking about his feelings so hopefully the wine would help him relax enough to loosen his tongue.

“Why would anything be _bothering_ me?”

“Well, you're a bit...” Aziraphale makes a face as he waves around his glass, “grumpy.”

“I'm not grumpy.” Crowley scowls. “Baby humansss get grumpy. I don't get grumpy!” He drinks sullenly.

Aziraphale shoots him a look and says primly, “Crowley, you are the _grumpiest_ person I know. And it's particularly bad right now.” He puts his wine glass down. “You practically threw a wobbly in the restaurant back there. I thought the poor waiter was going to cry!”

Crowley crosses his arms, the wine sloshing precariously in his glass. “I'm insssulted, Angel.”

“Something is _still_ wrong with you.” Aziraphale sighs.

Crowley stops in the middle of refilling his wineglass and looks at the angel. _“Still?”_

“I mean, you were feeling off before this whole escapade started, but now I don't even know how to describe it. It's like the vibes I get from you are all _tangle-y,_ I just don't like it.”

“Well _ssstop_ feeling my feelings!” He growls as he puts the bottle down. “They're _my_ feelingsss.”

“I'm not trying to dear!” Aziraphale holds his hands up, trying to placate him. “Your feelings are just particularly vibrant. And you are my friend, I'm just trying to help. Crowley, _please_ , let me help you.”

And how is he supposed to respond to that? He looks down into his Lambrusco and wishes it was Valpolicella instead. The vintage is perfect. the wine tastes fine. But he isn't happy with it.

“I'm not going to push you into talking, Crowley. I just hate knowing that something is troubling you and not being able to _help._ Is it something from,” he pauses, pointing and speaking low, “downstairs?”

“What? No.” His hands cut through the air. “It's quite possibly the furthest thing from work related, _ever._ ”

“So, something _is_ bothering you?” Aziraphale leans forward in his chair.

“Yes! No.” He sighs. “Maybe, _yesss.”_

“If it's not work... is it...” He pauses and Crowley cuts him off.

“Yes it's _that._ But for Satan's sake _don't_ say it.” He empties his glass again in one swallow. “It's bad enough having to deal with it. And you jussst have to know everything. I don't need to be reminded of it.” He puts his glass down without refilling it, and pulls on a fraying thread on the chair instead so he doesn't have to focus on Aziraphale.

“Okay.” Aziraphale put on his problem solving face, the one he uses for particular difficult customers. “What,” he clears his throat. “What exactly is the problem you're having?”

“Don't you think if I knew that I'd take care of it myssself?” He whines and looks at his empty glass, willing it to refill. Suddenly he needs to be a whole lot drunker.

“Well, the way the humans do it, sex is usually a two person thing.” Aziraphale pauses. “I mean, if you're having trouble yourself, maybe you're missing part of the equation.” He takes a drink from his own glass. “I'm sure there are plenty of willing humans for you to pick from.”

Crowley scoffs, his speech is starting to become particular slurred as he knocks back drinks. “I don't particularly _want_ to ssseduce humans. That's _Work_ stuff, and I don't want to think about Hell when I'm doing _ssstuff._ ”

Aziraphale hums. “I guess that takes other demons off the market too.”

“What, with their flies and pus?” Crowley grimaces. “No thank you.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale says after they sit in silence for a while. “I can do it.” He looks so proud, like he just came up with a clever solution.

Crowley knows this can only end in flames.

“I mean, if you're okay with that.” Aziraphale straightens out his bow tie. “I don't really / _get_ / it, but I can. For you. If you'll let me. If you're not opposed to an angel taking you to bed.”

Crowley's throat almost dries up and he drinks his wine like it is water.

“Any objections?” Aziraphale asks, “I mean, I do enjoy plenty of other stuff the humans have come up with, so why should this be any different?”

“ _Right._ ”

“Great.” Aziraphale smiles dazzlingly, as Crowley realizes he'd just accepted, his mouth kicking in before his brain.

<~>

Aziraphale throws himself into sex just like any other project, letting it consume him. He does so much research. He read books and looks through diagrams. And the whole time Crowley keeps trying to figure out a way to make this whole thing stop happening because no good can come from this. He _knows_ they shouldn't. But he _wants, oh_ , he _wants._

And then it happens.

They go to dinner first which isn't all that surprising. Aziraphale loves food, and then there is wine. Lots of very good wine, and Crowley doesn't even realize that he is being romanced until Aziraphale is in his lap kissing him. It is all happening too fast, but it is exactly what he'd always wanted.

Aziraphale tastes of sugar and Cabernet Sauvignon and his hands in Crowley's hair are the only thing keeping him anchored to reality. It is all rather methodological though  – a forced intimacy, like Aziraphale has a checklist in his head and is intent on making sure he does everything just right.

It doesn't feel natural. It is a mockery of romance, but he wanted this for so long it doesn't sting so bad.

Somehow they made it to his bed, losing their clothes along the way. Aziraphale is perfect, just like he imagined. Soft skin, delicate touches. and _oh,_ being kissed. It is pure bliss.

“Bottom or top?” Aziraphale finally asks him when they are in bed.

“For fucks sake, do I look like a top?” Crowley drawls, exasperated.

“Well I figured," Aziraphale shrugs, "but I thought it'd be _polite_ to ask.”

“Oh, Forget words,” Crowley rolls his eyes. “Just _do_ something."

And Aziraphale does. He has researched well even if his heart isn't in it.

Crowley can't think anymore. Everything narrows down till it is just the two of them and he buries his face in the pillows to muffle the sounds he is making. Oh yes, this is exactly what he had wanted. Aziraphale pounds into him and he cried out, finally reaching his peak.

And afterwards, Aziraphale is the perfect gentleman, but something ugly plants itself in the back of Crowley's mind.

It wasn't right. It is what he _wanted_ but it is just _Wrong._ Everything had been _wrong._ And it should be _amazing_ , but is not.

“Crowley my dear, are you okay?” Aziraphale asks him.

“What, yes, why wouldn't it be?” Crowley lays on the bed, trying to catch his breath.

“You look like you're thinking too hard. Did I do it wrong?” Aziraphale looks so nervous.

“No, of course you didn't." He reassures him. "You were lovely, really.” He pulls the sheet up, waving away the mess and the wet spots on the bed. “I'm tired now.” He says, trying to cut off any more questions. "I'm going to sleep."

“Do you want me to stay?” Aziraphale asks softly.

“I mean, if you want, I don't care” * Crowley pulls the covers up and closed his eyes.

(* He does care very much, but he also doesn't know how to ask for the things he wants)

<~>

Aziraphale does stay there in bed, though he spent the night worried about his friend instead of actually sleeping. Crowley brushes his concerns off when he tries to speak about it the next morning and orders takeaway for Aziraphale for breakfast. And the angel knows something isn't right, but Crowley won't tell him what's wrong.

<~>

By the next day, the demon is just _gone._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are _Messy_ and Drunk!Crowley is my favorite Crowley.

_It is three weeks later when Aziraphale finally tracks Crowley down to some kind of music festival. He is filthy, absolutely covered in mud and dried blood, and the positively most wasted mess the angel has ever come across in all of their many Earthly years. One of the dark lenses of his fancy glasses is cracked, but that didn’t seem to bother Crowley too much._

The demon is sporting lots of facial hair, which is a bit a surprising - not that it looks particularly bad on him; just ungroomed. Crowley has never worn a full beard before. It is a dark reddish-brown and, in fact, it makes his tummy feel a little funny. And the curls, oh his glorious curls are back, long and flowing. Or they would be if the weren't matted together.

But Aziraphale barely has a chance to take it all in before something catches his eye. “Is your nose broken?!” He exclaims.

“Hi Angel. Probably was, at one point...” Crowley waves off the concern and takes another sip from whatever he is drinking.

“Is this where you've been then?"

"I've been _everywhere._ " Crowley spreads his arms out and spins in a circle.

Aziraphale takes the half empty bottle from him and pours it out on the ground.

"Oy! I was drinking that."

"You've has enough." Aziraphale looks around the festival grounds in distaste and makes sure no one is watching. With a snap they are back at Crowley's flat, in the lived-in-room, and isn't that a handy trick to be able to pull?

Crowley pouts. “You're a spoilsssport. I was having a proper good time.”

“Yes, I see the evidence of that good time.” Aziraphale folds his arms.

“Ugh, gonna give me a bollocking then for daring to go out and have a bit of fun?” Crowley pouts.

“Is that what you were doing? This hardly looks like fun!”

Crowley laughs. “Oh, but it isss. The internet said I’d like all them! Right up my alley.” He stumbles around the room and gestures even more wildly with his arms than usual as he talks. “And they were. You’d hate them all, call them Bebopssss.” He spits the word out like it personally offends him. (Which it does, honestly.)

“I’ve been around the globe, touching base with the 'modern musical ssscene.' Doing all sorts demon stuff, the usual. I quite like some of those new lots. But you can always find a good mosh pit at most any concert, and that’s where the real fun isss!”

“Crowley my dear, why don’t you sit?” Aziraphale waves at the sofa.

“Don’t want to sit!!” Crowley sticks his tongue out at him. “Want to move! Doesn’t this flesh suit jussst drive you mad sometime? Don’t you want to be Freeee?” He starts to singing loudly, Queen's “I want to break free.”

“Sit.” Aziraphale pushes Crowley until he is sitting. “What is wrong with you?”

“Everything. And Nothing. I’m a demon, this is what I do.” He raises a finger to enunciate his point. “You know back in the old days, i just asked questions. Was really all it took. Always had questions. And that was _all_ it took.” He whistles as he pantomimes a fall, then an explosion.

“And then it is oh, go make problems up on Earth. And I’m a demon, right? So off I go. Always just causing problems, oh look, a don't touch sign, bet I can do something with that. But now I hardly have to do anything, the humans do it all themselves. Crowley the demon.” He laughs again, and there is an edge to it this time.

“Crowley…”

“I don’t even care that I Fell. Was bound to happen. How are we ever supposed to live up to her expectations?” He pulls off his cracked glasses and frowns at them, waving a hand over them to fix them, but doesn't bother putting them back on yet.

“Right, so here I am a demon.” He gestures animatedly as he speaks. “And I didn’t even do that right. I mean blood, and guts, and bugs right?”

“Crowley, you’re not making sense.” Aziraphale stands over him.

“Don’t want to make sense, nothing good ever happens when things make sense. That’s when you get to thinking and I don’t want to think.” He miracles up a new bottle of tequila, his eyes looking just a mite too yellow.

“No, no, Absolutely not. You’ve drunk quite enough, my dear.” Aziraphale grabs the bottle from him.

“I haven’t.” Crowley pouts as the bottle is pulled away before he can open it. “You don’t even understand, Angel. I’ve been kidding myself for thousands of years. Like I can just be your friend and it would be enough but it’s _not._ And now I’m Icarus and I’ve flown too close to the sun and it’s all _melting_.”

Aziraphale pauses. “Is this because of what we did?”

“Of course it is! We had sex! Very _Bad_ sex, Well, very good sex, but it was **BAD.** And _sex._ Angels shouldn’t do that. But here I am, dragging you down with me. And I always did go too fast for you. No. I refuse to be the reason. It hurts so bad Angel, and I don’t want you to come crashing down too.”

“Crowley, listen to me-”

“No you listen to me.” He pushes himself off the settee. “All these years I’ve been slowly killing myself because I’ll never be good enough for you, never be what you deserve, and I can’t do this anymore. It’s over. You go back to doing whatever for Heaven and maybe this won’t ever matter. I can't watch you Fall.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Aziraphale asks evenly. “If we’re canceling the arrangement, I feel like I should have a say in it."

“What can you possibly say that would make this alright?”

“I don’t know. You do ask so many questions, and I don’t always have answers for you. And I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I know I don’t want to experience it without you. The 19th century was so dreadful without you.”

Crowley makes a noise like he has just been punched in the gut.

“Dear boy, I’m afraid I move rather too slow for you. It did take me ages to catch up.” He rests their foreheads against each other. “I don’t care about Heaven or Hell. I care about _you._ You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You’re the most important person to me Crowley, and I should have said that a long ago.” His hands tangle in Crowley's hair as he runs them through the messy curls. “Oh these always makes my favorite.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley speaks the name as if he is afraid of breaking whatever spell has fallen over them.

“Yes?”

Words get stuck in the demon's throat. He doesn't know what to say. He just puts his hands over Aziraphale's and squeezes, his eyes closing. He is not sober enough for this, hadn't been sober in weeks. He shakes his head and just holds onto Aziraphale's hands tighter.

Aziraphale brings his hands up to Crowley's face again and uses his thumbs to wipe away tears that the demon doesn't even know he's shed before they can get lost in his beard.

“My dear boy, it's okay.”

“No sss'not”

“We'll figure it out, Crowley. We're probably going to have to have this conversation all over again in the morning. But first things first, you're taking a shower. You absolutely smell like _whatever_ you've been up to the last few weeks, and I know you can clean yourself up with a flick of the wrist, but I know you, and you want a shower.” He points to the bathroom. “Now, dear. And sober up while you're at it.”

Crowley shakes his head. “I'm not sure how to do it anymore. I think I forgot that last week.”

“Honestly, I don't know what to do with you sometimes.” Aziraphale admonishes him. “Your head is going to hurt something awful tomorrow when you wake up. Quite frankly, I'm surprised you remembered to keep your wings hidden.”

“Wings!” Crowley jumps up his black wings sprouting out. “That's what I was forgetting. Been trying to figure out why it's been all itchy.”

“No, no, dear, lets put those away. We're going to go take a shower now. Doesn't that sound lovely? Wouldn't want to get your wings all wet, would you?”

“They are rather a bother to dry.” Crowley scowls and the wings are gone again. “ _We're_ going to take a shower?” He repeats hopefully.

“You would probably crack your head open if I were to leave you alone in this state.”

“Love my shower.” Crowley practically vibrates with joy. “Best sssplurge ever, and I don't even make people money.” He laughs “splurgeee. Sss'a fun word. Ssspluuuuurge.”

“Yes, indeed.” Aziraphale guides him out of the room. “Come on then, show me this shower of yours you love so much.”

<~>

It takes a while to convince Crowley to actually undress and get into the shower. Crowley tosses his own clothes on the bathroom floor like they don't matter to him at all. Aziraphale folds his neatly and puts them on the counter by the sink. Crowley's clothes are probably a total loss after all these weeks.

Showering with Crowley - well it is hardly the first time he has been around other naked men. And the shower is extravagant indeed. It has three different jets pouring down on them and there makes so many different bottles lined up on the built in shelves that Aziraphale's head spins a little.

“See, nice.” Crowley turns his face upwards to let the water wash away the blood.

Aziraphale, who much prefers a nice soak in a bubble bath says, “I suppose it's rather like rain, if rain was less unpleasant.”

“It'sss Lovely." Crowley closes his eyes and sways.

“No! No.” Aziraphale says and shakes his shoulders, “We're staying awake.”

“Why?” Crowley pouts. The water is so soothing. He wants to close his eyes and drift away in it's warmth.

“Because how else are we supposed to clean ourselves up?” Aziraphale grabs one of the containers that he thinks he recognizes the contents of. At least it is a familiar color. “Here, soap.”

“That's sssugar scrub.” Crowley frowns at him and plucks the correct bottle out to show him before Aziraphale has the chance to wonder what, in all the realms there are, is a sugar scrub and why is it in Crowley's shower.

“Shower gel.” Aziraphale reads the label. “What's wrong with a decent bar of soap?”

“Gel'sss fine. Got a Sssponge.” Crowley picks up a black loofah and squirts some of the gel onto it, working it up to a lather and then finds himself lost in the bubbles.

“Oh, give that here. You can't be trusted right now.” Aziraphale takes the loofah from his hands and starts to gently clean the grime off him.

Crowley is about to complain, but the soothing motions Aziraphale makes are rather nice. The angel pays close attention to his face, cleaning him until he is satisfied.

“What have you got in your hair?” Aziraphale paws at the sopping mess as he rinses the soap off and works in the shampoo into his scalp and hair. “And how do you even clean this much hair? It's all matted up, is this blood, mud, or something else entirely?”

“Been a long coupla weeks.” Crowley shrugs. “Sss'probably blood. Mosssssh.”

Aziraphale miracles the mess away when Crowley gets tired of standing still and having his hair yanked “making a bloody mess of it.” Aziraphale rinses out the suds.

“The thing is. You gotta use lotsss of conditioner.” Crowley lectures as he slathers on the conditioner.

“Yes, and cold water, I know. I do have curly hair too.” Aziraphale reminds him.

“But you never wear yours long.” Crowley sounds a little wistful.

“My hair is fine just the way it is.”

“Yess.” Crowley agrees. “Sss'lovely. All fluffy. I love it. Wanna run my hands through it.”

Aziraphale swallows and rinses out _most_ of the conditioner. He turns the shower off and wraps Crowley in a towel that really is ridiculously large and shuffles him off to bed.

He leads Crowley to the bed gently, like he is afraid the demon will run away again if he let go of him. “Sit down for me please. Lets get you dressed."

"No.” Crowley says stubbornly. “It's cold."

"That's because you need to dry off." Aziraphale dabs at him with the towel then sets to work patting and drying his hair with a microfiber towel. Finally he manages to convince the demon to put on his sleek black pajamas and lay on the bed.

“Oh, I just want to have a serious conversation with you.” Aziraphale says as he sits on the bed next to Crowley and adjusts the covers. “But that's going to have to wait till the morning.” Aziraphale pulls the cover sheet over the demon. “Just come on, let's get to sleep.”

“You don't sleep.” Crowley says with a yawn.

“But you do.”

Crowley doesn't argue, pulling the sheet closer around himself. He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. Aziraphale covers him up the rest of the way with the thick comforter and gets dressed himself, before settling back on the other side of the bed. He certainly has a lot to think about.

<~>

In the morning Crowley wakes up and makes a ugly face at the light. He concentrates, willing his headache way. “Aziraphale.” He says carefully once he notices Aziraphale laying on top of the covers in the bed next to him, studying him. He picks through his mind, trying to piece together the previous night.

“Ugh.” He wipes at his face. “I haven't been that drunk in hundreds of years.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale says slowly. “I've been thinking.”

“Oh, first thing in the morning and you want to talk, of course.” Crowley flops back into the pillows with a groan. “No. I'm going back to sleep. You morning people can buzz off.”

“Crowley, you can't run away from this conversation.”

“Wanna bet?” He drops one of the pillows over his head.

Aziraphale picks it up softly. “Why would you ever think I that you're not good enough? Or that I would judge you?”

Crowley rolls over and looks at him. “Because you're _you?_ And I'm me.” Crowley's eyebrows furrow and his eyes are full of hurt. “You're always so proud of the fact that you're an angel, and you always slot me back into the demon box whenever I start getting too friendly.”

 _Oh_ , Aziraphale makes a pained noise. He hadn't even realized his words has been hurtful. He'd meant them as a fact of life, but now he sees the subtle judgments that are built in. “I'm so sorry.” He bends forward so he can hold Crowley's head. “Crowley, I'm sorry. I didn't even know how you became a demon. You didn't deserve that.”

And there aren't words; how can he possibly put into words the fear and the self hatred he'd felt since he Fell, and how Aziraphale makes parts of his soul feel again. Feelings he thought makes lost to him. And the utter shame he has been carrying around - how he's been dragging Aziraphale down slowly and hating himself the whole time.

Crowley can feel the sobs building in his chest. And Aziraphale is drawing him closer, hugging him tightly. Maybe the angel gets a sense of what Crowley is trying to express and, starts whispering soothing words into his hair as he cries.

<~>

Aziraphale speaks after a while. “I'm afraid I've been rather cruel.”

“No.” Crowley says firmly, pushing himself up and wiping at his face. “You can never be cruel. Not on purpose.”

“But I still hurt you.” His face is full of regret.

“Everything hurts,” He shrugs. “That's life.”

“No, it isn't Crowley!” Aziraphale grabs his shoulders. “Life is a beautiful thing, and _Love_ shouldn't feel like that. Oh, I'm so sorry. How can you ever forgive me?”

“Don't say that.” Crowley hisses. “You've done nothing that requires _forgivenesss.”_

“I have done nothing. And that's _**exactly**_ the problem. And I know you try, you've offered me so many chances, but I've always been scared of my feelings, and I didn't want to lose you, but that's exactly what's happened.”

“You haven't lost me.” Crowley says sharply.

“Haven't I?”

“Never.” He grabs onto Aziraphale's hands.

“Crowley I love you so much, but I don't know if I can ever be what you _need._ I tried to be what you needed, but it was so _wr_ _ong_ , You said it was Bad, and it was.” Aziraphale sounds so devastated.

“It _was_ bad. it wasn't you. Oh angel, don't do that again. Like I'm a shopping list.” He rested his hand on Aziraphale's and he pauses. “Wait, you _love_ me?”

“Of course I do, you silly old snake.” His voice is fond and warm. “I says it last night, but I don't know how much stuck. I care about you. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. And it's true. I love you so much.” He squeezes Crowley's hands with his own, trying to project the love he feels.

“Ngk!” Crowley flops backward onto his pillow, blushing and holds Aziraphale's hand to his chest.

“I love you, Crowley, my dear. I love you so very much and I never want to be without you. I know I've messed up a lot of things, but you're the only thing in my life that always makes sense. I, I don't want to spend another day of my existence without you. You're phenomenal. I'm sure someone has already said it better than me. But I love you.”

“Don't you go waxing all poetical on me.” Crowley tries to recover. “I don't care about dead men's verses.”

“Perhaps just a few sonnets.”

Crowley sit up and grabs onto a pillow. “I will use this.” He threatens.

Aziraphale smirks at him.

“Angel. _No._ ” He dropped the pillow and lays back down. “Don't make me get out of this bed now, I'm very comfy.”

“Oh, alright then.” Aziraphale lays down against his own pillow and reaches across the bed and laces their fingers together again. “So what now?”

“We'll figure it out.” Crowley squeezes his fingers.

“Promise me, no more secrets.” Aziraphale says, seriously. “At least, not the important stuff. I know you've got your work and I've got mine, and we're on opposite sides; we'll figure that out too, I guess. But feelings, promise me you won't lie about _that_ anymore.”

“I don't have any more secrets, though it is hardly ever a secret that I was in love with you. I've been flirting for the last 6,000 years.”

“You have not.” Aziraphale gasps, eyes widening. Crowley quirks a brow. “Oh goodness gracious, you have.” His face drops. “Oh, I'm the worst. Oh, _Anthony.”_

“Don't you go apologizing again.” He frowns at the blond. “You are dumb, aren't you?”

“We both are I suppose. Well we got here in the end, even if it took us 6,000 years.”

“I suppose so.” Crowley looks at the clock on his nightstand. “Ugh, I suppose we _should_ get out of bed. I probably need to check in at work.”

<~>

“So, what's with the look?” Aziraphale rests his head on Crowley's shoulder now that they have finally crawled out of bed. He strokes his fingers through the beard fondly as Crowley glares at the reflection on his closet door.

“Well, it's what I always do when things go a bit wonky.” He shrugs. “I fuck up my hair, get some new threads and then get spectacularly wasted.”

“Oh. _Oh_ my dear, you've has so many changes over the years.”

“Well not all of them are big gay crises.” He huffs. “I do like to keep up with the styles, I'm _fashionable._ ”

“No you're not dear, you're a _disaster._ Don't make me remind you about that phase you went through in early 2000. There was black nail polish.”

Crowley stuck out his tongue. “Sss fashion. I don't expect you to understand. I was perfectly emo. The eyeliner was fun.”

“Yes, quite.” Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “I suppose you'll want to shave it all off then.” Aziraphale sounds dismayed. “I mean I can't imagine you'll want to be reminded of this all.”

“You've never cared about what I looks like before.” Crowley eyes him.

“Well, of course I did. I just never said anything. And this looks so much better than that terrible goatee you has in Elizabethan times. Oh, and your curls. You look positively like a dream."

“A dream?” Crowley scoffs.

“I just want to run my hands through your hair, and braid it, and maybe tug on it.”

"Ngk." Crowley pauses. “Right then.” His voice sounds strangled. “Okay. I'll leave it.” He points at his face. “This is getting trimmed though. I'll _not_ be looking like a lumberjack hipster.”

Aziraphale at least knows what one of those last two words are.“Well, it does look kind of rugged right now.”

"Rugged is not me." Crowley shakes his head.

"No, I suppose not."

"I can keep some scruff I guess. But shorter, neater." He scratches at his chin thoughtfully.

"Oh, please do." Aziraphale blinks big doe eyes sweetly at him.

Crowley rolls his eyes and passes his hands over his face. The bushy hair became more closely cropped to his face. "How's this then?"

Aziraphale licks his lips subconsciously and adjusts his bow tie. "Yes. I think that suits you quite well."

Crowley smirks at him knowingly then turned back to the mirror. "What exactly am I supposed to do with all this hair then?" He frowns and extended the ends of his hair with his hands.

"Oh leave it down." Aziraphale begs and runs his fingers through it. And it is so soft, just like he has always thought it would be. Even with it tangled from sleep, it is still _so_ soft.

Crowley parts it off center and smooths down the wildness that falling asleep with curly wet hair causes, but he still is unhappy with it. It has been a few thousand years, he will have to play around with it.

“I can braid it." Aziraphale suggests.

"You can't." Crowley rolls his eyes as he steps away from the mirror. "Do you even know how to braid?"

"No, but I can learn. For you."

Aziraphale smiles one of his goofy little smiles and Crowley feels his heart clench. He suddenly feels the need to yell at something, and turns to his closest. "Well then angel, are you going to dress me then too?" He means it like a barb, but Aziraphale's eyes light up.

He has so many different clothes - most in various shades of grey or dark, he is not quite sure how Aziraphale is planning on dressing him.

Aziraphale emerged from the closet with a bundle of clothes.

"Un uh." Aziraphale rebukes him when he stands to look. The Angel holds up a pair of socks and points at him. "Sit back down." He motioned to the bed.

"I'm not a child." Crowley grumbles.

_"Dear."_

"Yes, fine. I'm sitting."

And then Aziraphale's hand is on his leg.

"I was just kidding!" Crowley yelps. "You don't actually need to do this!"

"I want to. Hush dearest." and _oh._ Aziraphale takes such care as he slowly pulls each sock up. And it should be awkward, Aziraphale zipping his jeans up like he is incapable. But seeing Aziraphale between his knees dutifully tying his shoelaces like he is getting his King ready for battle feels so right, like this is the intimacy he'd been craving.

Aziraphale takes just as much care with the button down shirt, though he leaves the top button undone. Then he drapes a scarf over it and finishes it off with Crowley's favorite jacket.

And Crowley can hardly breathe, it's something he would have put together himself, something familiar he would be comfortable in. "Aziraphale." He raises a trembling hand, When did he start shaking?

"I'm right here, dear."Aziraphale takes his hand and twines their fingers together.

"I suppose it's a little late to ask what exactly we are." Crowley notes, his voice thin.

"I don't know how you'd define it," Aziraphale says. "But I love you more than anything in the universe. When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I want to see is you. And I love our lunches together, and when you finally take off your glasses and so I can see your eyes. You're so beautiful it makes my heart swell. It makes me want to be selfish and keep you all for myself. But you need things that I just can't give you and I liked buying you presents, I enjoyed making you happy, but it wasn't enough. "

"Oh." He blinks. "Angel." He wraps his arms around Aziraphale. "I have to tell you something. And listen to me all the way." He takes a deep breath in. "In the Garden, I rather thought you makes an interesting fellow, and then you told me, a demon, that you gave away your flaming sword to the humans because you're just so nice, and that is rather it. And I kept throwing myself at you, but it isn't what you wanted-"

He raises a finger to stop Aziraphale. "Listen. I says I can be friends. I can do this for Aziraphale, and then you started leaving me gifts and I really enjoyed that. I kept telling myself, no, he's just trying to be a good friend, keep your bloody feelings to yourself and don't take advantage. And I gave myself quite the talking to and I said that's it, no more thinking about Aziraphale when I do anything like _that."_

"Oh, what a mess that turned into. Aziraphale, I spent the last couple of weeks trying to forget what we did. Oh, that was so wrong, and nothing at all like I'd imagined. And I did imagine it quite a lot, I mean, you left me so many gifts," he is rambling now and he forces himself to stop. "The point I is trying to make is that everything is fine. Well, until I makes it not fine."

"Oh. I'm afraid we both made a bit of a mess of things. We both are dumb indeed. I do wish I had known. Because I don't exactly mind that. I mean, you _thinking_ doesn't mean that I _actually_ have to do anything. But I don't blame you for not telling me, I haven't really made it clear to you just how important it you are to me. Because you are." Aziraphale held his hand tighter. "So we're whatever you want us to be."

"6,000 years,"Crowley shrugs. "I suppose we're a thing."

"A _thing?"_

"Humans and their labels. Doesn't matter so much to me. You're the most important person in my universe. My entire being revolves around you. When I look at you, I see nebulae I helped create, I couldn't care less about Heaven, Hell or Humanity. Sss'always been you. If you want to call it something else, then go right ahead."

"Well, I suppose I worry enough for the both of us. You are my dear boy, my darling Crowley. If you say we're a thing, then we're a thing." He chuckles. “You like to wax poetic yourself.”

“Ugh, Angel.” He groans.

Aziraphale looks at the flat. "I'm not staying here though. I liked your old flat, the one with all that white marble, even if it was too modern and empty. This one is just so industrial." He crosses his arms. "I know you've got an image to maintain, but there's a lovely flat above the bookshop."

"That? That flat is nothing but boxes and clutter. I'd suffocate."

"It's hardly that bad.” Aziraphale says, “Though I suppose I can clean up a bit."

"And I suppose I'll have to come over often.” He sniffs. “To see if it's up to my standards yet.” He looks at Aziraphale. “I suppose it's time to get to work then, huh?”

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale clears his throat. “But come by the bookshop when you're done. We'll have lunch!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I figure this is a good spot to wrap up before I head into surgery tomorrow. If all goes well, there's definitely a sequel because I've already written quite a lot for it. I copy/pasted from a lot of my drafts, and I'll look it over when all is said and done to make sure nothing's too wonky.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm mostly posting this to motivate me to work on it when I'm recovering in the hospital.  
> I post updates and stuff on my tumblr occasionally  
> https://thekidsareangry.tumblr.com/


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